


Heaven and Hell Were Words To Me

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Miracles, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Quote: We're On Our Own Side (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 01:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Aziraphale drew his blessings onto Crowley’s skin, left his intent to settle into the demon like ink settling into paper. Protect him, they commanded. Keep him safe. Keep him happy. Keep him whole. It was written in the way his thumb brushed against Crowley’s knuckles as they held hands. It was seared in the press of Aziraphale’s fingertips against Crowley’s arm. It was promised in the way Aziraphale ran his hands over Crowley’s shoulders as they sat together on the old, lumpy couch in the back room of the bookshop.





	Heaven and Hell Were Words To Me

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i've decided to just,,, be a day late on these,,,  
this was written in forty-five minutes. be kind please.
> 
> yes the title is hozier okay i'm a stereotypical gay please allow it

Aziraphale’s fingers traced patterns on Crowley’s skin, delicate shapes and sigils written into the backs of his hands and insides of his wrists.

The angel played it off as nothing, saying it was mindless movement, thoughtless touches, nothing more than a reminder that he could do this, now—run his fingers over Crowley’s skin, feel the heat of him, his pulse, the life he carried.

Because they’d  _ survived _ . They’d survived the end of the world—or the  _ almost _ end of the world, anyway—and they’d survived the combined wrath of Heaven and Hell. They’d made it through, the two of them, and now they were free. Free to hold each other close, free to finally say all the things they’d been thinking for the past six millennia, free to go as fast or as slow as they pleased.

And there wasn’t anything Azitaphale wouldn’t do to protect that freedom.

Aziraphale drew his blessings onto Crowley’s skin, left his intent to settle into the demon like ink settling into paper.  _ Protect him _ , they commanded.  _ Keep him safe. Keep him happy. Keep him whole. _ It was written in the way his thumb brushed against Crowley’s knuckles as they held hands. It was seared in the press of Aziraphale’s fingertips against Crowley’s arm. It was promised in the way Aziraphale ran his hands over Crowley’s shoulders as they sat together on the old, lumpy couch in the back room of the bookshop.

_ Watch over him. _

_ Be kind to him. _

And, most often of all,  _ I love him _ .

The blessings came easily—in fact, it would’ve been harder for Aziraphale to  _ not _ pour all his divine grace into his actions, especially with a being as beloved as Crowley—but they were not mindless. In fact, the actions were  _ dripping  _ with purpose.

_ Nothing _ would be able to touch Crowley, not if Aziraphale had anything to say about it (and he did).

“Angel,” Crowley said as he leaned back into Aziraphale’s touch. “Angel, I—you do know I speak Enochian, right? Downstairs uses it, too. I wrote my reports in Enochian triplicate.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale replied, his hands not stopping as they drew yet another protection sigil into the skin between Crowley’s shoulderblades. “That’s interesting, dear.”

“Angel,” Crowley said again, and Aziraphale could all but  _ hear _ the eye-roll. “I know what you’re—I know you’re—that you’re  _ blessing me _ .”

“Alright, then,” Aziraphale replied. His hands moved to the tops of Crowley’s hips, and he grinned as the demon shivered. He always was dreadfully ticklish.

“ _ Aziraphale _ .”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said evenly.

“You—how many?” he asked. “How many—the miracles. How many miracles have you used to—to—”

“Oh, not  _ too _ many,” Aziraphale said in a way that meant  _ not near enough _ . “A few hundred, perhaps.”

“ _ A few hun _ —Aziraphale! You—how—that—”

“No one’s counting anymore, dear,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley turned in his arms. “They still  _ know _ ,” he insisted, taking Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “They still get a notice when you—and you—they— _ ngk _ —”

“Is that an issue?” Aziraphale asked, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly.

“They’ll know you’re using them on  _ me _ ,” Crowley explained slowly, the way he used to explain to Warlock the importance of absolutely  _ never _ eating a vegetable if he didn’t want to and  _ always  _ talking back to his parents. 

“Good,” Aziraphale stated resolutely. “Then they should know that even  _ attempting _ any sort of—of  _ tomfoolery _ will absolutely  _ not _ be tolerated.”

“But I’m not—” Crowley began, and then cleared his throat. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and Aziraphale thought his eyes looked especially beautiful in the warm lamplight of the back room. “What if you ever want to go back?” he continued, the fear evident on his face.

Aziraphale hated that look. He hated the way the uncertainty and anxiety painted themselves so boldly across his beloved’s features.

“And why on  _ earth  _ would I ever want to do that?” the angel asked, his brows furrowing together.

“Don’t be ridiculous, angel,” Crowley said. “It’s  _ Heaven _ . You’re, well—you’re you. You’re good, and kind, and compassionate, and—”

“And hedonistic, and gluttonous, and greedy,” Aziraphale finished. “And, above all,  _ on our side _ . That’s not—I’m never going back, Crowley. Not ever.”

The fear was replaced with doubt. “Yeah, alright, but what if, someday, you decide that this is all—it’s not worth it, hm? Then what’s going to happen? You’ll have used on these miracles on a bloody  _ demon _ , for someone’s sake. They’ll hardly let you back in after all of tha—”

“ _ It doesn’t matter _ ,” Aziraphale finally snapped, squeezing Crowley’s hands. “It doesn’t matter because I am  _ never _ returning to Heaven.” He took a deep breath, blinking something that seemed (mortifyingly) like tears out of his eyes. “And as for this not being worth it? Crowley, how could you think—this is the— _ you _ are the—what we have, here, on Earth? It’s the most important thing in the universe, and I’ll be—I’ll be damned if I let anything  _ threaten _ that. Threaten  _ you _ .”

Crowley blinked at him but didn’t say a word.

“I  _ love you _ , Crowley. I—More than anything. More than all the crepes in Paris, more than every book in this Godforsaken store,  _ I love you _ , and I’m so sorry I ever led you to—to doubt that.”

Crowley still didn’t speak.

Instead, he cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands and drew him forward into a kiss.

Aziraphale’s hands settled around Crowley’s waist, and he traced one more promise into the demon’s skin.

_ He is mine. Always. _


End file.
